𝔸 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕣𝕤 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝔽𝕝𝕒𝕞𝕖 (ACOTAR FANFIC)

Fifty-two

It was time.

    I could tell by the way everything around me seemed to still as if it was waiting for something. Even the shadows in the dark edges of my cell seemed to be restless. Though I knew I was most likely imagining it. Shadows technically can't be restless. Even so, I could feel it in the air. Waiting. Always waiting.

    I knew that what I was going to do there would probably bring an end to the last semblance of humor and motivation that I'd brought Under the Mountain. Bringing up old memories was dangerous. I had spent so long burying them deep inside me, hoping they'd never be found again. I knew that the person I was going to have to become to win down there would not be the same as the person I'd come here as. To go back and become the person I hated most in the world would ruin me.

But if it was me that had to be ruined instead of my sister, then so be it. She was my family, and I'd walk through hell for her.

    There were parts of my childhood I loathed to think about, not only my time at St. Everest but the fighting that had been forced upon me. The same fighting I'd have to do here. Where two fighters were tossed into a pit to fight for their lives.

In the Flame, the top warriors of our class would be recruited and hired for missions in fighting rings on occasion. I was the best of the best.

And so I was hired. Many, many times.

I was no stranger to violence. But it was the hardest part.

To watch your opponent's life drain from them just so you could live was the ultimate destruction of the mind. I'd never forgotten how blood forever stained the floors of the fighting ring and the stench of death always clung to the air. Even as I fought I could see the eager edge to the audience's eyes for more— they were addicts— addicted to the death. To the bloodshed. I knew it would be like that. And worse.

It was hard when I was young, to watch as the crowd cheered as I a kill. To see them celebrate the darkening of my heart. But as I grew older I realized they were only cheering for themselves. So that it felt like a game to them instead of something real that they'd witnessed, because id it was a game their guilt would weigh less.

Maybe it was them who were responsible for who I became, maybe it was my overseer, or maybe it was me. Either way, I wished I didn't have to go back to being that person. When I came to Spring Court, I'd been spun around into my self-loathing spirals. I'd only gotten back to normal weeks ago, I feared that when I came out of those pits inevitably bloody and bruised I'd be back to where I started. I hated that person. I hated myself for being her. But I'd spent so long in her skin that I just couldn't seem to find my way out.

My earlier suspicions were confirmed by the sound of footsteps approaching my cell. Soon enough the door was opened and lo and behold another stone-faced guard appeared in the door to take me away.

The guards crammed into my cell pulling me off the ground—and this time, I let them. I needed to save my fight, save it to win. I had been sitting there drawing on the dust on my floor with my thoughts, and their hasty movements ruined my entire portrait of my family.

Two guards grabbed my arms in a way that I was sure would leave bruises. I welcomed the pain, it served as a reminder of why I was here. Brought me back to reality in a way.

We walked, the guards stopped me before we'd gotten far. Pushing me into a dim-lit room. I looked around, spinning in a small circle my eyes landed on clothes set on a small bench. The outfit was black, paired with boots and black cut-off gloves.

I didn't waste any time changing. I stripped, pulling on the tight tunic and pants. I made sure to strap my daggers to my sides for easy access if things got too heated during the fight. The fabric hugged my skin, not doing anything to hide the curves of my body. Barely any of my skin was showing, and yet I felt utterly naked.